I start to feel like a normal human being when Slaughtaverty Manor's spires are solidly in the four-wheel-drive's rearview mirror.

Last night is now just an embarrassing blur of giggles, weird questions and... yes... impersonations. I impersonated a Peace Haven citizen! It was only for a moment, but that moment was too long. I'm relieved that none of the Slatherties speak like locals, but I can only imagine how appalled Diarmuid must've been, though he didn't remark on it. I hope he doesn't think I was trying to mock him.

Though not quite as pronounced as Billy and others, he speaks like the general population I've encountered since my arrival. It's possible that Alaric and their many travels abroad rubbed off on him, dampening his accent somewhat. Fortunately, enough of it remains to give him that extra bit of charm I like so much.

Oh, my word, I'm so ashamed!

I never do impersonations, not even in tribute to accents I love. I was shocked by how well I pulled it off, but still... Why?

What's next? Stand-up comedy?!

After having a thankfully light breakfast - safely alone in my bedroom - I tried to sneak out of the house like a thief. Though I didn't have a hangover or any other side effects from last night's episode, I had no appetite. I forced the food down, afraid I'd be too hungry later to use my time at the library properly. Once my dishes were stashed in the dishwasher, I hurried to the foyer, not wanting to run into anybody, especially not Aine.

I feel horrible about spoiling her family reunion dinner, even if Alaric assured me that nothing got spoiled and Aine was still as happy as she ever is. I don't understand what happened to me. I can handle wine quite well. Though I do not drink a lot - or often - I can manage a couple of glasses of wine just fine. I did not drink that much last night. I have no idea why I reacted like that.

I remember that, during dinner, I imagined Saoirse saying things to me she clearly wasn't saying. I even imagined seeing the brother they're all mourning, and, worse, I flirted with him using an accent.

How am I supposed to live that down?

Aside from being embarrassed and utterly humiliated, I'm unnerved. I never break down and just flounder all over the place like that. I seem to be doing that quite often now. I'm used to feeling a gazillion different emotions at any given moment, but I'm not used to expressing them.

Last night, I expressed them and then some.

Very early this morning, I almost ran into the two people I most dreaded seeing, and they were together! Dealing with both of them simultaneously would've been too much for me to handle.

I set my alarm to get up much earlier today and was on my way to the study before breakfast to pack my laptop, as I wanted to bring it with me today when I walked past an open door in one of the darker corridors. I always walk through that hallway, but all the doors are usually shut.

The poorly lit chamber was a small sitting room of some kind, but I didn't take much notice of the furnishings because the scene playing off in the interior surprised me into stopping. Alaric was seated, with Aine bending over him, carrying a towel over one shoulder. A bowl of steaming water was on a low table near them, and she seemed to be shaving him, which is risky in such poor lighting.

"Who cut your hair? It looks like someone chewed on it," she wanted to know, running her fingers through strands of his hair that looked less even and neat than I'm used to for Alaric, but the light was bad enough to leave doubt. "I loved your beautiful long hair."

"Ran," he grunted, and Aine giggled.

"Oh, that explains a lot. Honestly, that man," she chuckled, clicking her tongue. "I'll fix it when I'm done shaving you."

Alaric grew restless then, and a soft, low, growl-like sound made the hair at the back of my neck rise. I wasn't sure what I heard, but his agitation reminded me that I was observing a private exchange and being extremely rude.

"Shhh, it's okay," Aine soothed him, stroking his hair while I retreated, and the last words I heard before hurrying along the corridor was: "You are doing so much better. You'll soon be with us again completely."

I didn't understand any of that and had almost forgotten about the incident until much later when I was approaching the front door, ready for my trip. Freedom was almost within my grasp when Alaric appeared in the foyer. I'm convinced the man teleported there just to frustrate me.

No, he didn't just step into the foyer from the parlour; that would be too mundane. He teleported.

My heart nearly stopped. I started to apologize profusely for my horrible behaviour at their highly civilized dinner, convinced that he was about to fire me now that I was no longer lounging in his arms, using him to Uber to my bed. However, he surprised me by simply stepping closer to look into my eyes as if he were a doctor examining me for a concussion.

"Don't be concerned about that, Miss Dankworth," he'd said with something that almost resembled a smile. "I'm not baying for your blood... It's not Tuesday, after all. Drive safely."

I was still standing there, blinking my eyes, startled by the realization that he'd just made a joke with me when he vanished into thin air. Fine, he went up the staircase behind me, but... there's that whole mundane business again, and Alaric is anything but mundane.

I pretty much ran from the house with my cheeks on fire. That man never ceases to surprise me. He is an enigma, wrapped in a puzzle and stuffed in a Jalapeño pepper.

Come to think of it, he didn't seem to have had a recent haircut. His hair looked no different than it did yesterday or the day before.

Yesterday, Leopold informed me that he would have the vehicle prepared for me, and it would be waiting for me on the paving outside the mansion's front door. Honestly, these people act as though I'm going on a long and arduous cross-country trek and not just the 20 minutes or so it will take me to reach the village I can see traces of from my bedroom window.

Still, it was very kind of him.

Of course, I'd barely closed the front door and started down the steps leading from the patio when I ran into Aine. Why not?! She was rising from where she'd been crouching in a flowerbed bordering the patio.

I nearly made a puddle on the stone steps! Firstly, because I didn't see anybody crouching there and was startled by her sudden appearance, and secondly, because it was her specifically.

I would've preferred another puzzling, awkward encounter with Alaric.

Last night, when I was still lucidly making conversation with her, Aine told me that she loves gardening and sometimes spends hours weeding and treating plants. She said she was going to help get the garden ready for winter, and she was doing just that when I left the house. An older man was working on the furthest end of the flowerbed on the opposite side of the patio steps. I didn't notice him at first, either.

Rather than greeting her, I did the logical thing and apologized to her too, all the while terrified of inadvertently saying the wrong thing again as my words tumbled clumsily over each other. I did not want to cause her any more distress. I never realised just how socially awkward I am. Probably because I was home-schooled by my grandfather and only socialised with his friends and a few of our colleagues. I'm not all that used to interacting with people around my age in a non-professional context.

"Oh, no, not at all," Aine smiled, wiping the back of a gloved hand over her sweat-sheened brow. Her level of dishevelment testified to the amount of effort she'd already put into gardening, and it wasn't even 9am yet.

I was surprised by her flushed cheeks and slightly sweaty brow. She clearly did not inherit Ransford's inability to sweat. He'd spent a long time attacking Billy with a stick, and though dirty, he was completely free of sweat, at least in comparison with Billy.

I cannot remember whether Liam was sweating after our workout. Then again, he wasn't even out of breath. I'm probably the only person who would call what we did a workout.

"I truly enjoyed dinner last night," Aine assured me. "It was lovely to get to know you a little bit, and to be honest, Aubrey, knowing that my brother is still flirting with women after his demise makes me happy. At least death didn't change him," she'd chuckled and then gave me a scandalized look. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I've inherited the Slatherties' terrible sense of humour. Well, you gave me hope. Ambrose is my twin brother; we were very close, and I miss him dreadfully. If you saw him, I'm sure I will too one day. Tonight, I'm skulling an entire vat of ale."

I don't think she was joking.

Her kindness keeps on catching me off guard. She has an impertinent tilt to her head when she looks at someone that hints at an ability to be fierce - perhaps even bitchy - when she feels the need to, but so far, she'd only been sweet and cheeky in all the interactions I've seen.

I promised to catch up with her as soon as possible to gossip about the boys - her words - and felt a bit less horrible when I was climbing into the huge truck-like vehicle Alaric lent me.

I'd been nervous about driving the monstrosity, but it handles like a dream and is quite luxurious on the inside. If I were Alaric, I would drive it everywhere; it is comfortable and clings to the road in a comfortingly decisive way.

Now that I'm on my way, the last of the unsettling feelings clinging to me is retreating into a quiet background murmur. I wonder how Alaric is going to the harbour for his meetings if I have his car. He didn't say he needed it and didn't seem put out by me using it today. That strengthens my teleportation theories, right?

The only thing he seemed mildly concerned about was me leaving the manor's grounds. That is just because he's afraid I'll ignore his warnings, get lost in the dark and mist, and fall off a cliff with his fancy truck.

It would cause such a PR nightmare.

Driving this road is not half as daunting in daylight as at night with the mist creeping in. I wouldn't dare drive it then. I'll make sure to come home long before dark. The peaceful ocean sways aquamarine on my left, and the forest, though dark, is just a luscious blur of deep green on my right. I enjoyed being a passenger when Billy picked me up for lunch, as I could enjoy the beautiful scenery fully; now, I'm keeping my eyes on the rugged road, and it soon takes me into the forest.

It's decidedly darker here, causing my nerve endings to bristle warily. It is extremely beautiful, though. It has all the things magical fantasies are made of. Tall trees, thick ferny underbrush, creeping plants dripping from tree branches, shadowing the road. I would love to drive through this forest in a movie.

In real life... not so much.

I constantly expect something freaky to jump out in front of me, and when it finally does, I slam on the brakes, skidding to a stop. I watch in wide-mouthed wonder as a couple of deer prance across the road a few meters from the front of the vehicle.

Fortunately, I wasn't going fast. Everybody who heard about my great big adventure to Neverland warned me to take it slow through the forest. I remember Billy driving really slowly too, though I didn't spot any deer that day. The animals are beautiful, and I stay for a few minutes, admiring their graceful steps and the beautiful antlers of the stag while they calmly graze near the truck. I'm startled when three more deer suddenly bolt across the road in front of me, frightening the others into running too.

Something seems to have spooked them, but gazing into the shadows from where the deer came, I can see nothing but moving leaves, disturbed by their flight. Still, it spurs me into putting my foot back on the gas and taking off again.

Though nothing scary happened, I'm still relieved when I finally reach the end of the forest and the bright light of day penetrates the windshield. It wipes away all the feelings of dread and imposing danger that tugged at my heart during my trip through the dusky forest. I don't know why I felt like that while driving through the mystically beautiful landscape. There was nothing sinister about it, and I didn't even think about murdered people and lost children; I was completely focused on the road.

Still, I have goosebumps, and it's not just because of the temperature variance between the forest and the outside world.

The town is quiet when I reach the main street, heading to where I remember Billy pointing out the library to me. It's Friday morning, and I suppose most inhabitants will be at work or school. The park with its stone statues and the lonely, time-ravished huge hanging tree has no children playing in it and no villagers strolling or sitting on benches, the way it did on Sunday - 543 years ago - when I'd been here last.

It feels like ages since I'd seen the place.

Following the arrow on a board directing me to the only parking lot in the village – as far as I'd seen last time – I pull the truck into one of the open spaces and cut the engine. I'm surprised to see multiple other vehicles - especially off-road bikes - parked in the lot, as well as many bicycles in the bicycle stands.

I'm not sure where the school is located, but Billy said most kids are within walking distance, and those living on the farms further away are bussed in.

From the parking lot, I follow the sign pointing the way to the library adjacent to it. Climbing the stone steps and crossing the columned patio to the front doors, I feel dwarfed by the tall windows and towering pillars. It is fascinating to find an imposing building like this one in a rural-type village like Slaughtaverty.

Entering the library, I'm not quite prepared for what I find. Though the building itself is rectangular and austere on the outside, the interior of the main body is circular, lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. The ceiling is two storeys high.

This is the library of my dreams.

The modern and the ancient blend together with computer screens on many antique desks scattered around the centre area of the large room. I'm mesmerized by the architecture, the ceiling decorations, chandeliers and balcony railings. It's as if Baroque and Rococo came together and had a baby. The result is a blend of dramatic, bold symmetry accented by frivolous lightheartedness. I find the overall effect rather pleasing, if a bit overwhelming.

Just like at Slaughtaverty Manor, I am shocked to see exquisite antiques being used for the purpose they were made for as if they're not something to be protected behind glass. I'm starting to get used to it now, but I'm glad to see that the ancient desks and other furniture are at least well cared for.

Almost every desk is occupied by a person wearing a headset focusing on the screens in front of them. Nobody even turns their head when I walk into the room. I slowly make my way around the outer diameter of the circle, admiring the rows upon rows of books, some old, some new. Slaughtaverty Manor probably has more books than this library, but the books I saw there weren't all gathered in a massive group. They were scattered among the few rooms I explored.

Though impressive, the Slatherties' ground-floor library would fit into this room many times. There might be a bigger library in the mansion or at least many more that are as impressive as the ground floor one, but I haven't discovered them yet.

"Personally, I would be headin' upstairs to the archives," a woman speaks beside me, making me jump in surprise. I'd been so engrossed in studying the books I did not see or hear her approach me.

Turning to look at the speaker, I find myself face to face with a woman a few years older than me, smiling warmly, her hazel eyes twinkling cheerfully. She wears very subtle make-up, giving her face a youthful glow, enhanced by her casual jeans, pastel floral shirt, and her light red hair curving cheekily over her shoulders. She exudes the kind of no-frills, no-hassle comfortableness that sets me at ease right away, and seeing her welcoming smile, I like her on sight.

"Excuse me?" I say because I've never started a conversation with a sentence like hers and am not sure where to go from there.

"Oh! Where are me manners?!" the woman exclaims, her smile growing even wider. "I'm Moira Doyle. Me brother-in-law – ye will know him as a big buck, goes by the name of Billy – told me all about ye. To tell ye the truth, I've been dyin' to meet ye, Aubrey Dankworth. Me daughter told me ye were a looker. I thought the lass was just bein' all sorts of nothin' again, but if anythin', she understated it."

I'm struggling to follow what this woman says to me, but I cannot stop listening to her. She seems to enjoy speaking so much that it pulls me in. I've never been described as anything in the line of beautiful before. If anything, I'm rather plain. It could be that 'a looker' means something different here.

Her daughter? Could that be the vivacious Mary I met?

"Oh! Uhm... Nice to meet you, Moira," I stammer. I did not know I would be running into Billy's family today. I'm not sure if Moira works here or just came to socialize, as she doesn't wear a lanyard or a badge with any type of identification on it. Then again, according to Billy, the island's inhabitants all know each other, so identification is probably not required.

"Pleasure is all mine, I assure ye," she says, taking the hand I automatically stuck out in greeting. Her fingers have a firm yet gentle grip, and her smile doesn't waver even when she spots the rather extravagant emerald ring I'm wearing on my left hand when I raise it to adjust my useless glasses nervously.

I put them on again this morning because my eyes are feeling overly sensitive and unfocused, and they're helping a bit. What I really need are some tinted glasses. Everything is too bright this morning. Perhaps I am a touch hungover after all.

"It's about time this community gets some fresh new blood. Why, we're on the verge of in-breedin', I tell ye," Moira laughs, and, startled, I laugh too, not sure how my blood is supposed to help with that. I'm not planning on doing any breeding of any kind, be it in or out.

"Do... uhm... do you work here?" I ask her, referring to her opening statement about archives.

"Oh, aye, that I do!" she chuckles. "I should've opened with that, shouldn't I? Sure, look. I beg yer pardon, lass, we don't get many off-island visitors. Me social skills are shite when it comes to meetin' new people. Billy told me ye'll be wantin' to do some research on Peace Haven and the villages, especially the people who lived here through the centuries. He said yer lookin' for family connections. The archives will be the best place for that. To be sure, to be sure."

She waves her hand to a door on the opposite side of the circle, and I eagerly fall into step beside her when she starts to walk towards it.

"Our genealogical data is right impressive, I tell ye. We often get requests from off-islanders searchin' for their ancestors. Mind ye, most of those requests come via e-mail, and then I do the searchin' for them. 'Tis not often that I get to show this place off to people."

"This library is rather impressive," I smile, enjoying her bubbly chattiness.

"Oh, I'm sure it's wojus in comparison to the collection up at the manor, but aye, I'm fierce proud of it." From the way she looks around her, her eyes shining with love, I can tell that she means it.

"I haven't really seen much of the Slatherties' collection yet," I tell her. "I've been exploring the manor in small portions."

"That's the best way to eat an elephant," she chuckles. Seeing me curiously looking at the highly focused people seated at the desks we pass, she adds, "University students. Most of our high school graduates opt for online learnin', enrollin' in the universities of their choice. Of course, some students prefer to do their studyin' abroad, but not everyone wants to leave this haven we have here. Wifi services are downright shite on the more remote farms, and many citizens just don't care about the internet enough to bother with the signal being enhanced. Besides, studyin' here is much more craic than doing it on yer tod out there between the dirt and heaven. We never lock the library, givin' them non-stop access to all the study material they could possibly need."

"You never lock the place?" I exclaim in shock. As far as I can tell from just looking around me, there are antiques and artefacts worth millions in here. "Aren't you afraid of vandals or thieves?"

"We don't have any of those," Moira tells me, looking perplexed as if she's afraid that I'm going to ask her to import some to make up for the oversight. I know the Slatherties take a hard line when it comes to crime, but could it really be crime-free to the extent where valuable artefacts can be left freely accessible?

"Through that door over there, we have a large room set up for the weans who want to play console games online," she says, pointing to a door on one side of the lofty room. "There are also some other gamin' machines in there, as well as music and a dance floor to offer the kids some pure craic. From Fridays after school until Sunday evenin', this place is a popular hang-out for teenagers. It becomes to teenagers what the Three-and-One is to us adults. We're happy to hand the place over to them on weekends. If they're in here playin' games and eatin' snacks, they're not runnin' around gettin' drunk and up to no good, now are they?"

Looking at all the precious furniture and books, I cringe, thinking about wild teenagers having food, beverages and hormones all over the place. My dismay must be written all over my face because Moria laughs, shaking her head.

"Oh, do not worry, luv. There are strict rules about where they're allowed to party and where not. Nobody wants to lose the privilege of havin' a place like this freely available to them. They generally sort each other out when someone oversteps, but we give them some supervision."

She glances at the reception desk near where I'd entered the building, where an elderly man is sleeping with his feet on the counter.

"Mind ye, sometimes that supervision dozes off when he shouldn't. Still, so far, it's been bang-on. We, the parents with teenagers, take turns accordin' to a roster."

Reaching the door we were aiming for, she throws it open to reveal a spiral stairwell leading to the second floor. Just how many architectural styles could they fit into this one building? The staircase is positively medieval! It's possible that this building is much older than it appears. One day, I would love to make an in-depth study of it.

I follow Moira up the steps, ending in a balcony circling the room below. The bookshelves I'd thought extended to the ceiling are actually separate from the ones on the ground floor, covering the back wall of the balcony overlooking the space below. At intervals, doors are set between the bookcases.

Moira turns to a door on the left of the stairwell, which opens behind the bookcases and hits a light switch near the door. She ushers me into a large room crammed full of storage shelves loaded with airtight containers and rows of filing cabinets. One wall has a couple of desks facing it, and their surfaces each have two computer screens on it. The long wall forming part of the back of the building is broken into sections with windows between them.

"Ye'll find most of what ye want in our database," Moira informs me, pointing at one of the desks with the computers. "The query application is very easy to use, but let me know if ye struggle. Ye'll also find instructions and indexes pointin' to the location of any physical documents related to yer searches that ye might wish to see. The signs are pretty self-explanatory," she smiles, indicating the labels marking shelves and filing cabinets.

"Oh, lass, I would love to stay and talk yer ears off all day, but ye only have so many hours before it will be too dark to return home. Is there anything I could help ye with now?"

"No, thank you," I smile in answer to her kindness. "You've been very helpful. I'm certain I'll manage from here."

"Well, give it socks," she says encouragingly, pumping a fist in front of her chest. "I'll get out of yer hair, then, shall I? Call me if ye get lonely up here and want to have a wee cheese on yer chin. I would love to have a cuppa with ye. I'll be downstairs, then. Come and get me if ye need help.  Ah! Speakin' of cha..." she says, suddenly remembering something, and abruptly leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

For a moment, the sudden quiet makes me feel confused and uncertain of my next move, but I soon settle into the chair at the nearest desk and turn on the computer. I'm happy to see the screens light up. So far, so good. The login instructions are pasted on the top left corner of the desk, which I find rather funny. Clearly, nobody is afraid of some kind of data breach.

Moira was right; the query interface giving access to the SQL database is quite straightforward. When it opens, I enter 'Dankworth' in the most general search field on the form, asking various questions to filter the data. I don't want to filter anything out just yet. First, I need to see if I can find any Dankworth data at all.

A sudden, strong breeze tickles the nape of my neck, nipping sharply at my skin and causing goosebumps to erupt on my scalp and down my back. I flinch away from it and sitting up straighter, I turn to look behind me. All I can see are two rows of back-to-back filing cabinets in front of many rows of tall shelving stacked with sealed boxes.

Standing to peer through the openings among the items on the shelves, I try to see what could've caused the sudden gust of wind. Only the part of the room where I'm about to work is illuminated by electrical light. There must be another switch to turn on the lights at the back of the room.

From here, it seems as if all the windows are closed, and though their interspersed light does not touch the area furthest from me, and the shadows there seem to shift and change, I can tell that it's just an illusion caused by the poor lighting.

I'm completely alone in the room with its shelves, cabinets and restless shadows... as far as I can tell...

Still, the draft came from somewhere.

~~~